Short Leash
by RealisticOptimistic
Summary: Described MUUUUUCH better in previous entryRome and its surrounding countries is not the only place that survived the end of the world, other countries deal using unconventional methods...one kingdom even chooses to do the impossible...chain the werewolf.
1. Chapter 1

Short Leash 

_I claim none, zero, zip of the original '_Trinity Blood'_ characters (many will show up later) or the original author(s) ideas. I AM ONLY IMPROVING THEM!!!!!!!!_

**NOTICE:** **This fan fiction will contain** blood, gore, violence, mass murder of innocent bystanders, sexual themes (when I feel like it), dirty jokes, lots of death (even some of main likeable characters /dodge bullets), strong language, twisty plots debating what's really 'right' and 'wrong' and anything else I feel like putting in. **ALSO WARNING!!! For you grammar/spelling freaks** out there, my grammar is very bad, I will proof read until my eyes fall out but I may not catch 40 of errors, if you want to help and tell me where I screwed up (or it just really bugs you) notify me and I will correct ASAP.

Summary: There is a place half way across the world from Rome, but in many ways it seems like galaxies, you see it is far away from the glory, hope, and kindness Rome inspires in peoples heart. Here, in this war rapped and famine crippled land lays many types of…beasts. In a desperate effort to save themselves for the past hundreds of years mankind has been putting leashes on the most dangerous type of beast; and forcing them to do their darkest of biddings. These beast are vastly different from the gentle vampires of Europe, they are not confined to the darkness…or by the boundaries of their own conscience. They can live deep in the dark forests, being wild, wicked and savage, or they can put on perfect masks of civility…and walk the streets as mankinds equal. But beware fair human, every leash will break-


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Wild Things Part 1-Judgement _You can bite the hand that feeds you, but not the one that loves you-_

"Chaos you stand here accused of sixty murders…"

Chaos stood in the middle of the floor, struggling violently against the thick chains. They were buried deep in the cold, dirt floor. There were no rocks or debris, only huge gaping holes in sight…evidence of previous struggles from other prisoners that were mildly successful. Until the Keepers killed them where they stood. There were four chains on each of her legs, three on each slim arm, one around her petite waist and neck, and an intricate silver muzzle with several straps and buckles partially hiding her grimy but pretty face from view. The shackles bit into her skin, making her bleed; she twisted and turned as if her soul was on fire, while making threatening growling noises that were no where close t being human. As the metal cut deeper and deeper to the bone, making her crimson blood ooze on to the dirt, she was thrown into her hatred making her struggle all the harder harder. Just one of those chains could hold fallen angels to earth with the up most ease, and, yet, sixteen chains were dying with the effort of holding Chaos down.

"_It was self defense,'_" she screamed in the muzzle, but no one heard. The muzzle was too tight to make much noise. "_It was technically only fifty nine murders. If that idiot hadn't attacked me, he wouldn't have died and fifty nine of his buddies wouldn't have jumped in looking for revenge! Not that it would help any."_

No one was around her, nothing but twenty feet of empty space in every direction until you hit the walls. Chaos stood in the middle of the first floor meant solely to hold 'prisoners'. It had one way in, and same one way out. It was an ancient thick door with crosses and ancient words she didn't understand branded into the wood. The second floor was fifty feet above her, sitting on the meticulously cleaned white walls. Second floor was reserved for the audience. Judges, politicians, wealthy merchants, aristocrats and nobles of every sort, members of the clergy, everyone was a person with power. They were all human. _Of course_, she thought savagely. They sat there on velvet cushions in their satin robes ogling at her, acting as if she was the source of entertainment for them. Their faces blended together in her eyes of rage; over two hundred people watched her, but she only noticed the high judge sitting in front of her, above the old door, shouting out his verdict like he was an ancient god of judgment. In the very back of the second floor, located near one of its many exists, a single person realized her power, and was trembling because of it.

"…you are also accused of twenty accounts breaking and entering…"

He watched Chaos from the back row. Her clothes were shredded, bloody, and dirty and she had no shoes on her blackened feet. He would never have guessed that she was the cause of all this havoc, but then again her named did appear to be Chaos. His clergymen brothers only saw her porcelain skin and flawless face, the ice blue eyes that were sending daggers to Head Judge Julius. But he was watching the muscles rippling under that skin that had the chains moaning, wondered how strong her teeth—her _bite_—was under that mask. Most of all, he watched her long untamed mane. He pictured her running in the wild with that beautiful straw colored hair. She did not belong here…and she was scaring the crap out of him. Solomon watched her with his cinnamon brown eyes, nervously pushing back his shaggy jet-black hair from his delicate features. The tall, lean clergyman would never of guessed that the terror bellow him was seventeen, only four years younger than him.

Solomon was a clergyman very much different from many of those seated. He was what was known as a Keeper—they where dedicated and brave individuals that kept Chaos' breed 'in place'. Keepers where allowed to marry, to have children and to do many other things not typically allowed; but most Keepers died in the field by age forty, so rules where usually kinder concerning them. Many a person wondered why the soft, spoiled, pampered Solomon had become a Keeper; he did not fall into any category of brave.

_"I did NO such thing!"_ Chaos threw herself towards the door. _"I threw THEM into the walls and the doors! They broke _and _they entered!"_

Solomon was starting to see his life flash before his eyes. He was starting to hyperventilate and dug his perfectly manicured nails into the expensive cherry wood chair arms. He watched Chaos' hair, waiting for the moment that it was no longer an uncombed mass of tresses that fell to her waist, but fur covering her entire body. He was waiting for the moment she was no longer a human, but a werewolf. Wolf would be a poor description, but the closets thing used to describe what they were. They were larger, usually along ten feet in length, making them monsters in size. For that size, their legs were very long and more graceful then any wolfs', making them agile as cats. The fur was longer, thicker, and able to withstand sub zero winds and keep the beast warm. Strength and speed was beyond compare, but most frightening thing of all was the razor like teeth. Before they opened their mouths, werewolves looked noble and beautiful, after the teeth were shown many a brave man ran in fear. Long and thin, meant to slice open instead of rip and tear, and instead of a milky white color they would be an odd steely gray—one bite and it was all over. Unlike the stories of old, moonchildren, as they preferred to be called, they were not anything like a human at all when transformed, and it had almost nothing to do with the cycles of the moon. Solomon started twisting the white silk cape of his Keeper's uniform into knots, trying to convince himself that there was no reason to run. As long as the chains held, she couldn't transform.

"….and twenty million dollars worth of damage…."

There was a long pause of absolute silence, even High Judge Julius waited. In less then half a second, Chaos no longer stood chained to the ground; she was flying in the air toward the Judge. As the chains unwound with a gentle sigh of relief and hit the ground, she was no longer human, but a werewolf the same color as her hair, hurtling towards Julius. Chaos' brothers had always told her, think before you leap, but she had never listened then and wouldn't listen now because now she was leaping toward the Judge. Her main objective was to rip the Judge into small puzzle pieces; the punishment afterwards had not even entered her mind. Not that she cared all too much.

There was a panic now. Hundreds and hundreds of Keepers were flooding the floor, subduing her before the Judge turned up on the main menu. All but one Keeper made the daring jump to the first floor; all but one considered throwing themselves in front of her, trying to make sure no 'innocent' bystander was taken out. Hundreds were trying, but it should have only taken one. Solomon knew of her strength, and was out the door before the chains even broke figuring that if High Judge Julius took so much pleasure handing down sentences to werewolves, he should be able to protect himself…and there was the issue that he didn't want to wet himself in front of the other Keepers.



There was a great building five miles away from the prison. Ah, correctional facilities where werewolves where sentenced and held. On the outside, it appeared to be a great gothic style church, complete with ancient, weeping gargoyle guardians. The gargantuan towers arrogantly spiraled towards the sky to caress its sacred clouds and colors from stained windows danced in the sunlight on city streets. It was made entirely of black marble; it seemed more like thousands of small buildings linked to another. And that was exactly what it was. The great church Venerate was where all the Keepers trained, slept, ate, and more or less lived. As time went by, the simple church was not large enough, or extravagant enough to fit their needs. So they built onto the church, adding great halls, bathhouses, laundry rooms, sleeping quarters, libraries upon libraries, classrooms, physical training rooms and fencing rooms, kitchens, mess halls, massive gardens, offices, and lastly horse stables. Usually, this would not be tolerated, making a church into a miss match of a boarding house, business and a school but Keepers have always gotten away with many things.

Even though it was grand, and even though the Keepers were responsible for the peace, they still could not afford electricity or cars. Electricity was rare and reversed for the rich and powerful. Now and then, you would see a car running through town, and people would stop and stare as if an Angel had proclaimed Armageddon to restart. Candles and oil lamps lit the houses and streets. Horses, mules, and oxen were once again king of the roads.

Solomon had run five miles in the scorching summer heat in a heavy Keeper uniform, and was now panting in one of the hallways of Venerate. There were no windows and candlelight played on the darkly painted walls, a dancer to an unheard tune. Solomon was nearly doubled over with his head between his knees. He could still hear Chaos in all her range screaming: '_What in the hell do you mean millions!! It was the Goddamn slums'_. All in all, he was rather proud of himself. He hadn't screamed (just yelled); he hadn't fainted (just ran) or wet himself (thank god).

WHAM

SCREAAAAAAAM

Someone hit Solomon's shoulder in a friendly way, causing Solomon to scream like a small child. He whirled around, scarred, embarrassed, and angry.

"How's my favorite nephew?" asked a robust blonde. He shared the same flattering face as Solomon and the same height, but the similarities ended there. His uncle was quiet simply the golden boy everyone dreamed of being, personality and tan included. Pale Solomon came up very short compared to his Uncle Geoffrey, master of all the Keepers, legendary hero of the people.

"Wonderful Uncle Geoffrey," Solomon replied a bit weakly, rubbing his heart.

"Were you at the trail today?"

"I just got back from jogging actually." One thing Solomon could do well was shape the truth into a lie.

"You sure? I thought I heard you yelling 'Please help me'?"

"No, no that was not me," _I was yelling 'Oh God please help me she's going to eat me.' It's quite different really._

"Well in that case, I found your wolf," said Geoffrey. "She's a bit on the rough side, but I'm sure it's _just_ a phase. On the plus side, she hasn't(?) commented any major offensives recently." All Keepers where given a werewolf to look after. The regular prison system could not hold them. So long ago, they found a way to collar and chain unlawfully-abiding wolves to a human, a Keeper.

Solomon mentally bristled like someone had tried to gut him. His Uncle had a way of lying to get what he wanted, and he had learned as a child the painful consequences of going against him, "Oh really," he said with the perfect amount of enthusiasm. "Thank you so much Uncle." _Rough! She's not rough! She's wiiild._

"Yes," said Geoffrey, "I'm sure you will be perfect for each other."

"Thank you again Uncle," _She's GOING to kill me, I'm coming back and haunting you._

"You can collect her tomorrow at the hospital. She's being collared as we speak."

"Cant wait!" _Just kill me now and save everyone some trouble._

Geoffrey gave a dazzling smile and left.

Five minutes later, Solomon let himself faint. One out of three was still good wasn't it?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Wild Things Part 2-Naming  _You can bite the hand that feeds you, but not the one that loves you-_

The hospital where the werewolves were collared and cared for was one of the few places where normal people could see electricity at work. But none would come close enough to the hospital to see its secret wonders. The screams kept them away. No ordinary collar and chain could hold a werewolf; oh no, these collars were different. They were designed to stay on them no matter what form they chose; instead of the disappearing-repapering act there clothes continuously went through (the things modern science still can not explain). It stayed on until death, automatically readjusting its size to fit around the neck perfectly. The collar itself was two inches wide in human from, but varied in wolf, and was always a rustic silver color. It had razor sharp spikes to discourage those who would try to remove it; it was not necessary. Removing the collar instantly resulted in the werewolf's death. Two spikes where missing, one in front and one in back. In front was where the 'dog tags' where. Each werewolf-Keeper combination had a unique cross with their 'Christian names' etched in. The werewolf's would hang from the front, while the Keepers would receive the same intricate dangling cross on a chrome chain bracelet. Chrome—that color would haunt the werewolf's dreams. The Keeper's cross was what the hole in the back was for; it was why the collar could not be removed until death. Collars were infused at the back of the neck to the spinal cord, and connected to all the nerves throughout the body. Silver and flesh…made to create pain.

Werewolves were named after terms…Silent, Cry, Bloodthirsty, Broken, Peace, Pieces, Harmony…Chaos, but the church found this practice barbaric and unsatisfactory. So, upon being leashed, they were given Christian names to better suit them. If the werewolf became out of control, the Keeper would merely have to say the werewolf's Christian name and the silver collar and the chrome bracelet would activate. As if alive, the Keeper's cross would leap, the chain elongating several feet until chrome found silver. The cross is a key that inserts itself to the hole in the collar. Upon the connection, the Keeper can do one of two things a: say _'Immobilize' _which sends several painful volts of electricity running rampant through the wolf's nervous system. Painful is hardly the word to describe it. The wolves are usually floored and not able to move after experiencing so much torment. Or b: _'Retrieve'_ did just that. Once connected with the collar, instead of sending pain, it wound itself back, forcefully toeing the werewolf it is Keeper. The length of the leash deepened on the wolf's power. Most was around fifteen feet; the most powerful in record was ten. An odd philosophy was behind this. It was believed that the more powerful the werewolf, the less room they needed to run amuck and create havoc. Apparently three year olds were not factored into the equation. These two commands were how the Keeper kept them under thumb.

Most did not survive the collaring; they died a painful death trapped inside their own cries as they molded the silver on the spinal cord, not able to rise above the darkness painted by their own mind and drugs used during the procedure. Less then forty percent lived to be exact.

In the old hospital, with the sizzling electric lights, down the depressing halls that seemed to morph in the shadows creating things on the walls, and the moans of the injured, Chaos was being collared.

Old Doctor William was grudgingly working on her. He was getting sick of collaring. They seemed younger every year, and it was killing him inside. That was the bad thing about William; he had too good of a heart for this work. His success rate kept him going. He was the best at collaring, and, in his reasoning, that meant that at least the poor devils had more of a chance when they where under his delicate hands. They did. Brushing his thinning white hair out of his eyes, he worked hurriedly. William was a good judge of power, and they have seen nothing like her in years, if ever. He had decided on a Celtic style cross for her. She needed something different, something bold as she was. Gently he wiped sweat off of her brow as she started to whimper and move.

"Poor dear, you're too strong for this second rate pain medicine I work with."

At the sound of his sweet voice she stirred and looked up on him. Her ice blue eyes filled with pain met his calm hazel ones. Anyone else would have been frightened, but he knew her type, she would not bite…him at least.

"Easy now baby, go back to sleep," said William getting another tranquillizer ready.

He kept it in plain view, wolves were not like humans; they preferred to know exactly what you were sticking in them. She did not even flinch as the thick needle found the vein and the fluid poured in.

"I'm no one's baby old man," she said hoarsely, half way memorized by his soothing voice. "You have a nice voice…not cute enough to be a girl or a bird…but rich and deep like a cold glass of water on a hot day…"

Old Doctor William's heart got caught in his throat. He hated working on these young wolves; he nearly quit work that day.



It was night now. The heat of summer had receded and a cool wind whipped through Solomon's open window to his living quarters. He sat cross-legged in a window seat, books scattered across him and everywhere on the floor. Reading by full moon and candlelight, he was trying to find a Christian name for Chaos.

"Mary, Victoria, Beth, none of them works for her!!" he said acidly, gritting his teeth.

Every time he decided on one, the fire behind her ice blue eyes flashed in his mind, and he knew it was not the right fit. Most would not care, but Solomon thought that perhaps if she liked her name, she would let him live just a little be longer.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked around his living quarters. It was a very meager apartment in truth. Two bedrooms and a small library with a large window that doubled as a sitting area was everything it had. Bath and kitchen was not considered needed when there were mess halls, kitchens, and bathhouses available. One room was his, and technically, the other was reserved for Chaos now. It was strictly formality. Most werewolves stayed in the barracks with their own kind. Sparingly decorated and having little furniture, it fit the mood of the faded black walls and floor.

Aggravated, he chunked the book at his heavy wood door, narrowly missing Dr. William as he stepped in.

"Ah. Doctor. Hello. It's three am," managed Solomon as he hastily met the Doctor at the door_. 'I thought old people went to bed early did you miss bingo night?'_

"I know but I figured you would need help…" William held up an old leather bound book covered with dust and placed it into Solomon's hands. "This has a lot of Gallic names. I'm sure you can find something in here." Stifling a yawn he continued, "I'm off to bed."

Solomon stood there, a bit dumbstruck after Dr. William left, not quiet sure how to react. He had always liked the doctor, but his intuition sometimes made him worry. Some people would take the doctors unique gift wrong, he wondered if the good doctor ever thought about it. He opened the book and flipped to a recently dogged ear paged.

"**Endellion,"** said Solomon speaking as he read allowed, his finger following the faded cursive print, "Gender: _Female_, Meaning…" Solomon smiled one of his few true smiles, "…_Fire Soul_."



Geoffrey sat in his office. The walls were painted velvety royal purple, rich redwood bookshelves held useless golden trinkets, diamond framed awards, and expensive antiques. Many over stuffed chairs were positioned around his arrogantly grand desk, tempting you to sit and be lost in its sinfully comfortable cushions. He kept his windows closed and the drapes drawn, his various gas lamps providing light. Carefully, he opened his deep draws and took out various bottles of exclusive liquor to make him a mixed drink. Ah, the joy of the clergy.

When he looked back up the window was open…and in front of him was standing a hooded figure. Geoffrey knew how she got into his study with out notice. She was the head Keeper of the assassin unit. Dianna would have walked on the treetops like a thief in the night, stealing dreams of the innocent without sound in that dark cloak of hers. For some reason that escaped him, you could not even see a hint of her face under that hood, just a glimmer of those currently very angry eyes.

"I do hope its pleasure and not business that brings you to my doorstep Dianna. May I mention there is a door; you could use it you know," said Geoffrey, looking back down and mixing

"What do you think you are doing?"

"…" He started rumbling through other drawers looking for matches.

"Damnit asshole, do you think this is some kind of a _game?"_

"Language, language Lady D. That is what the young ones call you now, isn't it? Really you are not the type to curse at all. You must be very mad at me. The wild things…are rearing their heads again."

"Werewolves! Have you gone insane-?"

"The wild things underground have started to come-AHHH! Found them." He said proudly as he produced a box of matches

The pieces in her mind quickly fell together. All the little clues and whispers she had so carefully constructed and molded. Assassins are trained to think differently, and she saw everything behind Geoffrey's charming blue eyes. Under her cloak, her knees where shaking and she was worried about how sane Geoffrey still was.

"…she didn't kill them on her own", said Dianna is a voice scarcely above a whisper. "…she was only in the city three days there is no way she could have made that many enemies…You are playing with fire and putting all of our life's on the line. If the high judge finds out he'll execute us all with out mercy."

He smiled, looking into her eyes, eyes that still gleamed in the darkness. Carefully, he struck the match, lit his drink on fire and lifted his glass in a toast-like fashion.

Before he drank it, he said, "And may we all go to hell."


End file.
